An Exercise in Futility
by borgprincess
Summary: Shep's on the run from Elizabeth, but why? When she catches up with him, drama ensues. UPDATED: Just when things seems to be back to normal, it all goes crazy again. So what else is new?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: My usual problem is that I start a fic, and I have the ending in mind, but I can't figure out the middle. This fic is unusual in that I had written out the gist of the Sparky banter, then realized it needed some set-up and I opened Word, looked at the blank screen and started typing. The beginning. All in one go. What a change. -shakes head in disbelief- Following is the result.

-----_This_ _is dedicated to Alternate Ego for encouraging me to write…_

_and believing that I write well... -flails-... _--------

An Exercise in Futility

The sight of John Sheppard practically jogging through the winding corridors of Atlantis was not unusual, not when he had a mission to embark upon, an emergency to deal with, or hunger pangs to satisfy.

But he was not scheduled for a mission, the city's atmosphere was calm and peaceful, and the cafeteria wasn't even in this section. And the key detail that made his urgency rather odd was his apparent destination: his office, down the corridor and to the left. An office that was rarely used, sadly neglected, and purposefully located a fair distance away from the hub of Atlantis to increases the chances of some situation cropping up on the inevitable days he was forced to make his way over, with great reluctance and following the most meandering route possible, to work on report-writing. On these occasions, John always made sure that people knew he was unconditionally available to help out with anything, _anything_ at all, that if they desired his attention on some matter, no matter how trivial, he would be there for them- he wasn't picky about the pretext, as long as it provided an excuse to leave the paperwork til another time.

So the fact that he was rushing to his doom would have come as a surprise to anyone that knew him, especially his team, had those traitors been around. Teyla had mentioned something vague about an old friend's lunch invitation, a private reunion between busy individuals who rarely had time to socialize with one another, she said, brimming over with sincerity; she was sure he understood this was important to her and could not be rescheduled on his whim. Of course, if he felt it was _really_ necessary, then as his teammate and friend, she could probably find it in her-

John interrupted her at that point. He could practically feel the weighty disapproval of women everywhere bearing down on him, ready to crush him to a pulp if he'd been dumb enough to push the issue with Teyla. Part of being a good soldier was knowing when you were beat, and extracting yourself from the situation as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Ronon, in turn, brought up his inclusion in a 'hunting party' organized by Carson. It turned out the Satedan had expressed a fascination for the size of the fish that the doctor had triumphantly captured on his last fishing trip. Carson, being the generous man he was, had only been too willing to invite Ronon along to participate in this sport of kings. When John volunteered to keep them company, he'd been gently rebuffed, as all the seats on the jumper were filled by other fishing enthusiasts. Naturally, Carson said kindly, he was welcome to come next time, along with McKay, who'd made a promise that Carson was intent on seeing him fulfil.

Smiling noncommittally, John retreated and made for the final member of his team.

McKay was usually a reliable last resort. Yet today, the irritable genius, who often complained about John's remarkable lack of willingness to put up with being abused by random instruments of dubious scientific merit, designed as much to torture him as to advance their understanding of Ancient technology, muttered something about- something to do with- it was important, of course, hard to explain really- and much too complex to break down into laymen's terms…fobbing John off with these inadequate, half-articulated explanations, he had melted into a passing group of scientists and moved along with the herd into the nearby transporter. There, he offered something approaching an apologetic shrug as it was filled to full capacity, requiring John to remain behind and watch as his last hope pressed the door shut and disappeared from sight.

If he'd been the paranoid sort, he'd have suspected a conspiracy against him. It was just a little too neat, a little too convenient, a little As the saying went, once was accident, twice was coincidence and three times was enemy action.

And then it hit him. _Elizabeth_.

John groaned. This operation had the delicate stamp of Elizabeth all over it. She wanted him to know she was coming for him. She wanted him to race around like a rat in a maze, hitting dead ends, losing hope and running in circles from confusion and panic. She wanted him to have all routes of escape cut off, to feel despair closing in around him before she finally came for him. This was nothing less than psychological warfare. And damn, but Elizabeth excelled at it.

He only had one last refuge. And he was heading there right now, with as much speed as he could muster. As John abandoned dignity for flight, he contacted the control room. "Hey, Chuck?"

"Yes, Colonel Sheppard?"

"This might sound like a strange question, but what kind of mood was Dr Weir in the last time you saw her?"

The ensuing silence spoke volumes. If he hadn't been worried about bumping into her on the way, he might've considered hijacking the gate and escaping the city for a day. Or three. He'd thought he could just fade into the background for a while til she got over it, but obviously she was taking this far more personally than he'd anticipated.

"That bad?" John asked, wincing.

"Worse. I'm no military strategist, but I'd advise you to take cover, Colonel." There was a small trace of glee in the technician's voice that conveyed just how much satisfaction he was experiencing at John's expense.

"One of these days, it will be you, Chuck," he said warningly. A small chuckle emanated through the radio. "You laugh now, but when she's coming after you for grievous insubordination or whatever devilry I know you have in you, don't expect any of the military contingent to offer you aid."

That sparked an idea…he was in charge of the military on Atlantis. Maybe he could stage a coup. Impose martial law, confine Elizabeth to quarters til this all blew over and she calmed down enough to consider pardoning him… John embraced the fantasy longingly, then discarded it a heartbeat later. No one in the city would stand with him against her- unless he could somehow show she was under an alien influence- and even then, she'd find a way to break out of her quarters and get revenge on him. Painfully…messily…

"Hope the idea makes you feel better, sir," Chuck answered comfortingly, his chirpy response interrupting John's gloomy musings, thankfully before it got too graphic.

"Whatever," he shook off his pessimism and adopted a brisk tone. "You know where I'm headed. Contact me in the event of an emergency, otherwise I'm not available. I'm off-world, aiding refugees in an evacuation from a natural disaster if she asks."

One finger aimed for his earpiece, ready to switch off the radio, but not before Chuck retorted, "I don't know, Colonel, would those refugees ever forgive me for calling you away from their plight, should an emergency require your attention here on Atlantis?"

"Chuck! One simple cover I need you to remember- me, off-world, being heroic," said John, perfunctorily waving a hand over the door control. "God, how many of you has she turned against me?" he moaned theatrically, before ripping off the earpiece and entering his office, his sanctuary, his-

"Elizabeth!" The startled cry tore from his throat as he halted before the woman he'd been seeking to avoid, comfortably settled in his chair, looking through his languishing paperwork with an air of resigned gloom.

"Hello, John." She glanced up at him with a steely expression. "How kind of you to join me."

At that moment, it occurred to him that maybe his office wasn't quite the refuge he'd hoped for.

--------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So...long time, no update. My bad. Have mercy? ;)

An Exercise in Futility- Pt 2

Refuge: Compromised

John stared at Elizabeth, wondering for a wild moment if she was an illusion. "What are you _doing_ here?" he demanded accusingly, too surprised to repress the ill-considered question.

A second later, when faced with her withering glance, he wished he had kept quiet. Now was not the time to be putting Elizabeth on the defensive. It only inspired her to throw out the rulebook on proportionate responses and strike back with staggering force. Lorne had told him how she'd practically dared the Magistrate from Olesia to engage in a shoot-off, after the man unwisely stonewalled her in the search for John and his team. When the Olesian didn't have the balls to stand up to her challenge, nervously twitching as she froze him in place with intense furious eyes, she dismissively stalked past him and his guards, leaving them shaken and emasculated in her wake.

"_Come on," John said, "You're exaggerating, that's got to be artistic license, right?"_

_Lorne had shook his head, "I swear to you, she was exactly that hardcore. The Magistrate was sweating like anything and then when she headed for the exit, he and the lackeys with the guns skittered out of her path like leaves in gale force winds."_

John had enjoyed Lorne's lurid rendition of the events, regretting that he had literally been tied up and missed the performance instigated on his behalf. But now he felt a little sympathy, even kinship, for the hapless Olesians that had been confronted by Elizabeth's wrath. It was fun to watch her on the rare occasions she found it necessary to destroy people, but decidedly less so now that she happened to target him. However, he had always managed to get her to dial it down from 'complete destruction' to 'mildly crucify' when she had come after him in the past, though he hadn't found this useful ability necessary recently and fervently hoped he wasn't out of practice.

First step: avoidance.

"I must be in the wrong place," John said, trying for a harmless nonchalant attitude. "I'll let you carry on…doing whatever you were doing before I rudely interrupted," he took a step back towards the door, "and I'll just go find-"

"A place to hide?" she finished smoothly.

He halted, stung by how completely- accurate that statement was. Damn Elizabeth's perceptiveness. And the neat way in which she'd trapped him, because there was no way in hell he was admitting to it, yet he wouldn't- she knew he _couldn't_- lie to her. Creatively stretch the truth, maybe; change the subject, even better; but never an outright lie.

"Or maybe you were looking for your office?" she went on, raising her hands and gesturing at the room dramatically. "You've certainly found it, although given that it was under a few layers of dust when I first let myself in…" Elizabeth couldn't resist a small smirk at this point, "I'm guessing you haven't been here in months, so it's no surprise you don't recognize it."

Well, it was so nice that she'd given him a way out, even in the midst of poking fun at him. "Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, "All these rooms look alike, and you know, what with impending doom from various alien attacks that threaten us every other week, it's definitely been a while since I've been here." John studied her features, but she didn't appear to be softening to him at all. Damn. Elizabeth: 3. Boyish charm: 0. He really needed to start a new count or this would depress him later.

"Why don't you take a seat, John?"

He looked at her warily, while she gave him a tight smile that tried to convince him: _I won't bite_, even as her eyes warned, _Don't piss me off, I'm running out of places to hide the bodies. _Which kept him from making any snide comments about how she was ordering him around his own office. Sure, he might not visit more than a few times a year but it was supposed to be his domain and there she was, sitting in _his_ chair- and boy, there was something wrong with his brain when that made him flashback to Goldilocks and the three bears, more specifically the part regarding 'who's been sleeping in my bed?' which was a totally inappropriate line of thought at most times and possibly suicidal when he wasn't in favor with her right now and needed to concentrate on sweet-talking his way out of this one.

But instead he pondered how it was that she looked a whole lot more impressive and imposing than he ever had in that very chair, behind that same desk. Maybe it had something to do with the way he tended to slouch into a comfortable position when he sat whereas Elizabeth's posture made any seat she took automatically attain the official rank of Chair of Authority. It was practically her trademark.

"Now," she said sharply, evidently realizing she didn't have his undivided attention, "Would you like to explain your behavior to me?"

That direct question led him to step two: denial.

"What behavior?" he said, mentally rolling his eyes at himself. That _was_ kinda lame. This was came of staying in Elizabeth's good books for so long, he was rusty at the art of defusing her volatile mood.

"What is your _problem_ with _him_?" she asked, carefully enunciating each word with exaggerated patience.

He couldn't really deny knowing which 'him' she meant. Now, was step three 'stall' or- crap, he was out of inspiration. John sighed despondently. This conversation was going to be fun.

After wracking his mind and failing to come up with anything better, he fenced, "What makes you think I have a problem with anyone?"

Elizabeth was visibly grinding her teeth together. Definitely not a good sign. "The fact that you _drew a gun_ on him gave it away. And try answering my questions instead of pretending you don't know what I'm talking about because that really isn't going to make this conversation end any sooner," she said pointedly, and nodded as he squirmed. "So?"

"I think the alien beverages may have clouded my judgment," he ventured. Hey, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that something in those drinks had an adverse effect on him. His team had certainly tasted their fair share of drug-tainted meals. "Some of the other guys said they felt a little funny afterwards. You might want to avoid-"

"I felt no side-effects," she said dismissively. "Of course, it may have been due to the fact that I wasn't indulging my appetite by scoffing everything in sight. You might want to be a little less enthusiastic the next time, John, otherwise they'll demand more in return for their crops. And since weapons are off the table, as the _last_ time we tried our hands at being weapons dealers, things didn't work out too well, I need every advantage we have."

Now _that_ really stung. And it was uncalled for. Elizabeth hadn't been this bitchy in- ever, and she certainly hadn't thrown the Genii mess in his face even back when he really deserved it. He felt like they were back in their first year here, when they had each been trying to maintain jurisdiction and control, struggling to find common ground and at odds over what agenda they were pursuing in every crisis that came up.

But while John wanted to take it personally, while he wanted to use that gibe as an excuse to avenge his injured pride- and after all this time together, he knew exactly where to strike- in a sudden flash of insight, he realized that it was less an attack on him and more an inadvertent expression of her own vulnerability. It wasn't like her to lash out at people like this, and she never would have made a professional conflict so…_personal_ with anyone else. Even last year, when she'd been furious with Rodney and the whole city had been privy to the details of his dressing-down, it had been a response that anyone who was in charge of a man who had destroyed five-sixths of a galaxy would make or at least understand, and more importantly, it had never been about her. That stern reprimand was to make Rodney realize that he had screwed up majorly and to take responsibility for the mess he'd made and damn well never pull a stunt like that ever again or _else_.

This conversation now, with her snide remarks and obvious baiting, spoke to some other underlying cause. He looked at her closely, trying to assess her without being too obvious, and noted the little things that were 'off'. Elizabeth had pulled her hair into a careless ponytail, as though she couldn't be bothering brushing her hair properly that morning. Her fingers were tightly laced together on his desk, showing strain, and he saw that she wasn't wearing the watch she normally wore every day; forgetting something that basic suggested she had been distracted and preoccupied, which definitely wasn't her usual MO. And had her cheekbones always been so sharply defined, her collarbones so painfully prominent?

No. The real situation here was that Elizabeth was under a lot of pressure, she was stressed, making her irritable, and she was subconsciously taking it out on him. One way of looking at it was that it showed trust in him, that in her heart she knew she could pick a fight with him and it would blow over without leaving a dent in their relationship, that she could afford to let down the normal barriers that kept all the tension and anxiety inside her so that everyone else in the city could take strength from her strength, from her calm self-assurance and confidence, from knowing they could rely on her being there for them no matter what disaster cropped up next.

The other way of looking at it was that it kinda sucked to be him right now, dealing with attacks on a professional and personal level when he didn't have the heart to return it in kind. Because in all honesty, putting his pride aside, he had it coming.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Disclaimer- I decided to go for a _Hot Zone_ mood in these flashbacks. Lizzie and Shep can't be best friends every hour of the day, after all.

Exercise in Futility Pt 3

Facing the Facts

Elizabeth had been working herself to the ground on Atlantis' most recent round of negotiations with an alien race, the most promising so far at that, and he'd jeopardized it. While John really believed that something in the drinks had messed with his head and convinced him that drawing his gun on a foreign dignitary was a good idea, even if he had no real intention of using it on anyone, he certainly hadn't spent the whole evening prior to that major _faux pas_ being the model guest, making polite conversation and buttering up the Ciaran leader to sign Elizabeth's treaty.

Slightly ashamed of himself, John acknowledged that he'd taken one look at the guy and the way _he_ was looking at Elizabeth, and developed an instant loathing for him, which led to some subtle needling whenever he felt he could get away with it and even when he knew he was reaching the line. Some weird unexpected biochemical reaction to the local drink may have been what caused him to finally cross that line but he hadn't been helplessly dragged all the way up to it in the first place, no, that had been willful on his part. And it was only through Elizabeth's impressive skill when it came smoothing over the whole thing that there had been no major fallout. Between the Atlantis expedition and the Ciaran people, that is. The same could not be said for Atlantis' leader and her military commander.

--

"_You do _not_ accompany me here to trade negotiations in order to cause interplanetary conflicts, John," she spoke in a low tone that nearly trembled with raw anger. After convincing the Ciaran leader- a benevolent, fair-minded man indeed, to put up with all this fuss- that John's response was the unfortunate outcome of one too many drinks combined with the healthy paranoia that served most people well in the Pegasus galaxy, she had excused herself and the instigator of this mess from the table. "The _one_ group of people that have so far refrained from attacking us or selling us out to the Wraith or Genii and you pull a stunt like that. What the hell was that about? You're lucky he didn't have you arrested."_

"_It was something in the drinks, Elizabeth," he said, concentrating carefully on getting the right words out. Unfortunately, he was so absorbed in this endeavor that he failed to notice the pillar looming ahead, shrouded in the gloomy shadows of the dusk, and almost walked right into it. At the last moment, he saw it and stumbled to the side, knocking into Elizabeth, and he had to grab her arm to keep her from hitting the ground. Needless to say, it did little to improve his standing in her eyes._

"_I'll say it was the drinks," she said harshly. "Listen," she went on, then halted suddenly, transparently at a loss for words. For all her competence at finding the words to defuse the situation at the table, to elicit sympathy and understanding, to smoothly prompt Birat into magnanimously waving aside the matter and his armed entourage to relax again, she couldn't find a way to put this to rest between them. _

_Elizabeth pulled her arm out of his grasp. "John." She sighed and pressed her lips together like she was trying not to say something she was going to regret._

--

He'd winced at that simple utterance. He hated it when she said his name like that, so disappointed and frustrated. He hated that pause when she was torn between saying something fake and diplomatic and reassuring rather than what she was really thinking and feeling, and he hated himself for the contradiction in shying away from her expectations while also wanting nothing but the real honest-to-god truth from her.

The problem was that he cared so much about what she thought of him that when he screwed up, it would make him feel a hundred times the failure that people in his past had labeled him. So even when he knew he was in the wrong, it was just easier to deny the problem and ignore his part in it rather than admit it and face up to her hurt and anger.

Give him something tangible to fix, a sacrifice to make, whatever it took and he could do it. He'd kill himself ten times over to save the city, to save their people, to save her. But put Elizabeth in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes, arms folded and stiffly holding herself apart from him, radiating rigid formality and cold aloofness…and he wanted to bluster and prevaricate and just get the hell away from her before he completely destroyed the image of the man she thought he was, the man he knew he wasn't but wanted to be- for her.

And that was different, she was different, she made _him_ different. Because whenever he'd come up against disapproving authority figures, he stuck to the established pattern of either rebelliously proving them right for unfairly hating him because they were such assholes they didn't deserve anything else from him, or striving to make good because he wanted to prove them wrong, to rub it in their faces and make them acknowledge that he was worth something after all.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to succeed just to make his superior happy. That wasn't in the John Sheppard '_Guide to Dealing with the Chain of Command_'. The fact that he reacted so personally to matters concerning her…rattled him. It left him stranded without any bearings in a land littered with misleading, confusing signposts. It short-circuited the function marked 'rational thinking' in his brain.

--

"_What?" he snapped, when the silence drew out too much longer. "What do you want me to say, Elizabeth? What am I supposed to do?" Just like before, his realization that he'd done wrong made him itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable, restless, touchy. He didn't want to face her like this, knowing he'd let her down._

_She looked up at last, eyes remote and icy. "You've done enough. Go back to Atlantis, get checked out by Carson." He started to protest but she looked past him at the figure that had emerged from the hall after them. "Ronon, please escort Colonel Sheppard back to the city. Send Major Lorne in to replace him at the proceedings here." When he nodded in assent, Elizabeth took a step closer to John, lowered her voice so that the other man wouldn't hear. "Figure out your limits because I don't _ever_ want to see you act like this again."_

_He'd embarrassed her. He was her second-in-command; he ran the city on her behalf during military crises. He represented Atlantis as much as she did and he'd embarrassed her with this behavior. The appropriate words formed in his mind, traveled so slowly to his vocal chords, struggling sluggishly to be given voice. "Elizabeth," he still sounded irritated, he sounded confrontational when this was supposed to be an olive branch to bridge the gaping chasm between them. "I'm s-"_

"_Go." She held his gaze for a moment longer, her eyes piercing his, giving visual emphasis to that single harshly uttered syllable. Then Elizabeth turned and walked back to the hall, heels clicking irritably as she left him behind._

"_Man, she's pissed," Ronon said, clapping a hand on his shoulder sympathetically._

"_Yeah," he said numbly, watching her leave._

--

He'd handled it all wrong. Yesterday, and this morning, in trying to avoid her. But maybe now he recognized where he kept going wrong with her, maybe he could change the way this played out.

So he reined in his instinctive defensiveness and mildly replied, "I admit I may not have been…exactly…gracious and warm and open to him, but really, Elizabeth, the part where I pulled my gun out was not entirely my fault." It may have been the outshoot of his dislike and hostility towards the man, given form by weakened inhibitions, but not a willed conscious decision. That had to count in his defense, right?

"Oh, no," she snapped, "You can't always play the alien influence card for any reckless or careless act you commit. What kind of example would that set for the people under your command?"

"It wouldn't exactly be the worst example if it happens to be true. You sure weren't averse to using the alien influence excuse to explain _that kiss_," he shot back, making sure to put special emphasis on the last two words. As expected, the reminder of the incident took the wind out of her sails as she automatically recalled their very first, very public, and regrettably very _forced_ kiss. Funny how hostile spirits who hijacked other people's bodies didn't care to observe the rules of decency and decorum in front of those people's colleagues. The angst-laden mantra '_think of the paperwork'_, which punctuated pretty much every alien related incident, had been worked overtime on that particular occasion.

Invoking the confusion and awkwardness of that incident diluted a little of Elizabeth's anger as his reasoning got through her prickly shell, though in a few moments, she regrouped and tried a different angle of approach. "So, you're seriously telling me that out of everyone present at the Ciaran gathering, _you_ would be the first to react, no, _overreact_ like that? Come on, Ronon would be the first on my list of likely suspects," she grimaced, "The man threw me into a wall, after all."

_Yeah, but Ronon wouldn't care if another guy was checking you out_, John thought, then shoved away that mess of emotions and responded in his buddy's defense, "That wasn't on purpose. He and Teyla decided to forego the usual bashing of each other with sticks and engage in this strange Pegasus version of tag, with a strong emphasis on sneak attacks…" he shrugged lightly.

Despite the seemingly casual way in which he referred to the incident, mainly because Elizabeth had made it clear at the time that she held no grudges against Ronon and it wasn't that big a deal, John had to carefully moderate his tone not to express the fear and panic that had swamped him when he first heard that Elizabeth had been taken to the infirmary after a confrontation with the newest member of Atlantis, a man _he_ had vouched for personally.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I've been inspired by this quote, "It seems to me that the best relationships- the ones that last- are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is…suddenly the only person you can every imagine yourself with…"

Exercise in Futility Pt 4

Awakening

"_What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded later, when he discreetly dragged Ronon out of the infirmary so that Elizabeth wouldn't overhear the discussion. "What _was_ that- what were you trying to- what _possessed_ you? Are you on crack?" _

_To say he had been agitated was perhaps an understatement._

"_It was-" the Satedan had a rare expression of embarrassment on his face, and finished in a low mutter, "An accident, Sheppard."_

"_An accident," he repeated in disbelief. "You kick my ass in the gym on a regular basis, you get Teyla to offer you some decent competition when wiping the floor with the new recruits becomes boring, and yet it's Dr Weir that ends up damn near concussed?"_

"_I heard a woman approaching me, and I believed Teyla was launching another attack." Noting the baffled look on John's face, he explained, 'Part of our training, so we don't get too relaxed. To keep us vigilant. This galaxy isn't kind to people who aren't prepared for trouble." He looked away. "I didn't expect Weir to be coming around to…bond or whatever." _

"_Yeah, I wouldn't expect her to be doing that again anytime in the near future, not the way you just treated her."_

"_Look, the doc said that she's all right, _she_ said she has no hard feelings, why are you the one out here getting angry on her behalf?"_

"_You were _my_ responsibility. I was supposed to make sure you settled in all right and that nothing happened," the rancor in his tone stemmed as much from his failure to make sure the adjustment went smoothly as with Ronon's actions. "She could've said no. She had enough reason to…heck, just on principle because I didn't actually get the OK before extending you the invite to Club Atlantis."_

"_Aren't you supposed to be in charge around here?" Ronon frowned. "You're the military commander, it's your call."_

"_That isn't the point of-"John let out a deep breath, exasperated. "Well, I guess our hierarchy wouldn't make much sense to newcomers. Yeah, I run the military operations but she's technically my boss. This is a civilian outpost, we get funding mainly from civilian organizations. Speaking of which, I know the IOA probably gave her hell for approving the addition of another alien to the team but she backed up my decision anyway." He spun and slammed a fist into the wall, utterly fed up with the universe. "Damn it!" It was dumb, it solved nothing but it was all he could do without hurting anyone else. He pulled his arm back to do it again but Ronon smoothly shifted to block him. "Hey, I know the idea of me warning you might be laughable but I'm not in the mood to pull my punches right now."_

_Ronon sighed. "Sheppard, it's hard for me to say this but…you're a fool. Get over your habit of blaming yourself for everything. Look, if it means that much to you, I'll go to the mainland and pick Weir some flowers or whatever it is women like when they want guys to grovel. Teyla can give me some hints. Just stop acting like this is all your fault. Seriously, McKay gets more upset over a stubbed toe than she is about this whole thing." He paused, considering for a moment. "Which is good, since you basically told me you have no authority and she can kick me out anytime."_

"_Your sense of remorse is overwhelming," John said sarcastically._

_Ronon was unfazed. "You're lucky she puts up with the both of us. Now that I know what she _could_ do, it was decent of her not to make things harder. Especially when _you_ were going around behind her back."_

"_Just a second ago you were telling me to get rid of my overactive guilt reflex, and now you want to put the blame in my court," John said incredulously. "Way to change the subject. So, just for future reference, here's the main rule. You want to kill as many Wraith as you can, fine, that's become our main priority lately, but you do _not_ beat up on the leader of Atlantis again, you hear?"_

_Ronon rolled his eyes. "Relax, I've got it already." _

--

"Consider me officially informed on the rules of engagement," Elizabeth said dryly. "Retrospectively, but at least now I know to loudly announce my identity the next time I approach Ronon."

"It was an honest mistake. _And_ he apologized. Profusely, considering the source."

"You know, I think that was the most he has ever said to me," she said musingly. "It actually surpassed the cumulative word count from every other conversation we've had since he came to Atlantis."

"That was probably when he started to thaw to you. He definitely respected you more after that."

"And merely at the cost of a blinding headache afterwards," Elizabeth winced at the memory, then pursed her lips and looked at him thoughtfully.

_This is it_, John thought with relief. She was softening at last.

"You brought me tea that afternoon. Vilest stuff I'd ever tasted, but it really helped ease my headache."

"Brewed it myself. I can be thoughtful that way," he said nobly, and was rewarded with a slight twitch of her lips that may have been a smile quickly stifled. Now he knew that she wasn't in a blind unreasoning mood anymore, and it was safe to move the threat assessment level down a notch or two.

He wasn't naïve enough to think this was over, she was still irritated and willing to let him know it, but at least she would be more open to hearing him out and tolerating their usual easy banter. It had been second nature for so long, he'd found it odd to tread cautiously around her and censor his remarks. Made him shudder to think what it would be like to have Elizabeth pissed at him for a whole week if getting the icy treatment for one day was this difficult to endure. When had he become so fixated on winning a smile from her every time they talked? How long had he been reliant on the warmth in her eyes, the peace and comfort gained from being in her presence?

And what had deluded him into thinking that something like an _office_ could ever be a suitable refuge in her absence? He couldn't find safety in _things_ anymore, he had found it in _her_, even though he wasn't one to put his faith in people, even though he'd learnt the hard way that particular path led to disappointment and pain.

But she had never let him down, not once. Far from it, she'd built him back up, restoring parts of his soul that had been chipped away piece by piece over the long hard years that he had waged war against the enemy, fought to stand his ground against his detractors in the military, struggled with _himself_ for all his faults, all his failures, perceived and real. It wasn't just that she believed in him, although that alone would have been a great gift.

The thing was, John knew that some people in the city had a skewed perception of him as this big damn hero of mythic proportions, the dashing white knight in shining armor that saved the day and got the girl to boot. McKay never tired of ridiculing him over his Kirking reputation and making cracks about being a glory-hound, seeking out fame and attention. Lorne and Cadman were not shy about keeping him up-to-date with the latest gossip from his so-called fanclub, which he sincerely hoped was a gigantic hoax of theirs, but he'd seen enough glances- furtive and blatant- from some of the women around the city to give him the sinking feeling that it might actually exist. In which case he so had to create a Lorne Appreciation group if only to have something to hold over his second-in-command, because this imbalance of power between the ranking military officer and his subordinate was criminal. In any case, it seemed that barely anyone in the city knew him, really knew him, even his own teammates were in the dark about a lot of the events that had shaped his character. Confidences had never been easy for him.

But Elizabeth knew most of the skeletons in his closet already, she had one of the highest security clearances on Earth, she'd read his file and he figured she probably knew as much as General O'Neill did. If there had been any gaps in her knowledge of his history, John knew O'Neill would have filled her in before allowing her to make the decision to enlist him in the Atlantis expedition. And she had _accepted_ all that he was, none of it had given her pause; she had remained so determined to take him on that in the end, she'd roped the General into convincing- practically commanding- him to sign up for another galaxy because he was needed. He'd thought that display of influence was nothing short of extraordinary, seeing as how he'd made himself _persona non grata_ with his way of playing fast and loose with the rules, but then a year later, John had found himself promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. And he had a strong suspicion that she had been involved in getting the military to acknowledge and honor him like that. He couldn't think of anyone he owed more than Elizabeth, who had single-handedly turned his life around.

All things considered, it would come as no surprise that he respected and admired her greatly. But it was more personal than mere gratitude, his regard for her was more than just the sum of what she had done for him.

He thought of all the little moments in between the hectic dangerous missions, the quiet moments when he lounged on her couch, lazily glancing through some report while she worked and occasionally played Solitaire and he entertained himself trying to figure out whether he could distract her or not…the breaks they took on the balcony, rarely explicitly arranging to meet there but knowing instinctively when the other might be out gazing over the ocean, deep in thought, and would welcome some company…the debriefings where his team squabbled in a friendly manner, requiring Elizabeth to step in and remonstrate them like children- a familiar routine that never lost its appeal- and he would meet her eyes in an expression of laughing remorse, if he was one of the culprits, or long-suffering martyrdom if he was innocent. And afterwards, he would wait behind while the rest of his team took off and give his own informal debriefing, discussing the tourist potential of particular planets, quirky local customs, tasty dishes he could recommend; now and then he'd present her with some little trinket he'd picked up from friendly marketplaces, just because…

It was startling to realize what she had come to mean to him, the significance of her presence in his life slowly dawning on him. He had always gravitated to her from the beginning, even with the push-and-pull conflict at the beginning of their professional relationship, but he'd never anticipated things becoming this personal. There wasn't one clearly defined moment when they bridged the gap between colleagues and friends, when work lunches became a chance to catch up, when polite trivialities became teasing banter, when it became a tradition for her to sit with him at Movie Night and steal his popcorn… when the shields of formality governing the tone of conversation between two leaders were dropped in favor of brutal honesty and hurt feelings and irrational anger. Much as he disliked the infrequent occasions when Elizabeth lost her temper with him, if that was the price for the greater intimacy of their friendship, he would pay it and gladly.

Because somewhere along the road, when he wasn't paying attention, the world had suddenly spun on its axis and spiraled out of its rotation, drifting through the galaxy before finding a new star to hold as its constant, a brilliant new sun around which to revolve. Everything had changed. And even though it was disconcerting how much of his sense of worth was tied up in this one woman, how she gave meaning to the most ordinary of moments, he couldn't imagine life any other way.

--

A/N: Yeah, it may seem sudden and all for Shep to suddenly realize 'oh wow, Lizabeth means a heck of a lot to me', but I figure if the two of them are rubbing along just fine as co-workers and friends and nothing shakes up that status quo, then it's easy to overlook just how important they find each other, whereas when there's tension and things get a little messy, it prompts some re-evaluation of their relationship, professional and otherwise.

Anyway, please review if you liked it.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Aaaand in breaking news, OMG, the alien dude at the center of the whole fight between Lizzeh and Shep finally gets a name! Whee! I suck at devising alien names, but it had to be done…

Additional disclaimer: I take my cue from eps such as _Duet_ and _Irresistible_, which set the mood here- my ship likes to tease each other. Seriously, Shep is occasionally on par with the little boy pulling on the little girl's pigtails to show his affection. Or at least, that's how he is in this chapter. -shrugs-

An Exercise in Futility Pt 5

_From pros and cons, they fell into a warmer way of disputing._

_-Cervantes_

Before he could fully ponder this startling realization, the shifting in perception, Elizabeth spoke again without the edginess of a few minutes before, and he abandoned the idea of further introspection til he could mull over it in solitude.

"I'm going to spell this out so that there is no misunderstanding. The people of Ciaran are our newest allies, John, and I'd really like to be able to keep one for a change…" Her wry tone took the sting out of the implied criticism. "So please? Don't jeopardize this. Not without reason. Is there something I should know about?"

In light of this fragile and newly formed truce, John wondered exactly how forthcoming he should be, and the wisdom of divulging the reasons for his antipathy towards Davidar '_Call me Davi_' Leowen, the Ciaran leader. While he wrestled with his conscience, Elizabeth rose from her chair- _his_ chair, he reminded himself, no matter how indelibly she had stamped it with her authority- and came round the desk, settling on it in a style vaguely reminiscent of his own casual perch on her desk when he tried to distract her from work. She braced her arms against the desk, tilted her head enquiringly at him. Her whole body language, from her casual pose to the deliberate closing of the distance between them, invited openness and confidences.

"This is your chance to tell me what's been bothering you…otherwise I expect you to be completely professional and behave yourself in future negotiations." She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"He...gives me the creeps." John kept his eyes on her hands, watching her long elegant fingers suddenly clench. He had a sinking feeling she was envisaging them wrapping around his neck and throttling him for that last statement.

"_What_?" she asked flatly.

"He's creepy." John knew he should quit while the going was good, but she _had_ asked for his honest opinion. "You didn't notice?"

"I don't believe this."

"Really, it was disturbing the way he was just fixated on you the whole time-"

"Hardly!" Elizabeth was working her way back up to exasperation again. He really should stop with this whole confession thing, it only seemed to help him dig an even deeper hole for himself. "I am the leader of Atlantis, he is the leader of the people we are newly allied with-"

"Oh, a match made in heaven..."

"Of course he's going to be attentive-"

"Any more attentive and his eyes would have leapt out from his sockets to your-" John paused deliberately, letting innuendo and her imagination fill in the blanks, then finished more delicately- "collar."

Elizabeth sighed heavily. "Much as I'd like to dismiss this as the fevered imaginings brought on by an over-indulgence of alien refreshments…by the way," she interrupted herself to ask, "You _did_ get checked out by Carson when you returned?"

"Yeah, he said the blood-work came back _within acceptable parameters_, though there are some more in-depth results he's waiting on. He'll let us know."

"There better be something there to account for your behavior," she muttered. "Anyhow, I recall you made several subtle digs at Counselor Leowen before we even got to dinner, so that can't be the sole cause. I'm going to chalk this up to some weird male territorial issue and advise you to get over it. Without anything more substantial to go on, you will proceed on the basis that he is a gracious-"

"Lecherous…"

She gritted her teeth and went on, "Helpful, _benign_-"

'And your average dirty old-' John continued blithely, then stopped short at her impatient glare. He blinked, then said defensively, "Oh, come on, if you'd seen the way he was gawking at you all night when you weren't looking, you wouldn't be defending him."

Elizabeth raised her hands in a quelling motion and then, shaking her head in exasperation, headed for the door.

"It might help if you wore something a little more...nun-like, what do you call those outfits they wear, the heavy dresses that cover them from neck to toe?" John asked, following her out of his office. "Habits, yeah. Find one of those for the next trade negotiation and we'll see how attentive he is then."

"Wait, are you now blaming my choice of clothing?" she shot him a dirty look as he kept pace with her down the hall. "First he was a creepy lecher, now I'm- what? Inappropriately attired?"

"I'm just suggesting a scientific study on the correlation between the proportion of clothing worn and the concessions made by males in a bargaining situation."

"What are you insinuating about my negotiating tactics exactly?"

"It's a slippery slope, that's all I'm saying, Elizabeth...' He considering baiting her about the use of sexual favors in negotiating, but figured that probably broke some rule in their sparring guidelines. Besides, while it was one thing to taunt Cadman about her pretty face easing the pressure of first contact situations, or jesting about trading Lorne for supplies, it just didn't seem right making that kind of crack about Elizabeth, let alone to her face. So he tempered his words. A little. "First the necklines go down, then the hemlines go up…"

At least he could wistfully _imagine_ that happening, though it wasn't likely to occur anytime soon. He'd never seen Elizabeth's bare legs. It probably wasn't professional, not to mention practical, to wear skirts around a place like Atlantis, but damn, he really wanted to enforce that dress code now. Strictly women only, though- he really had no desire to see Carson in a traditional Scottish kilt.

"Teyla has worn much more revealing outfits and you have never once mentioned it," Elizabeth pointed out, dragging his attention back to their conversation and away from the delightful distraction offered by contemplating her legs.

"But Elizabeth," he gave her a horrified look, "She's an alien. We can't judge her by human social standards."

"Oh, but I'm a suitable candidate for criticism."

"Definitely. I feel no guilt at judging you whatsoever."

"I'm so glad I was born human and am therefore eligible to suffer your criticism without causing you any guilt or remorse. I don't know how I could sleep at night otherwise. Of course, now I'm going to be having nightmares about causing a diplomatic incident by wearing the wrong outfit, so I can't thank you enough."

"It is my duty as ranking military officer to bring such details to your attention, ma'am," he intoned pretentiously.

"Of course. But while you're thumbing through your copy of the Military Commander's Rules of Etiquette, do you think you might be able to find the chapter on _'Proper Conduct When Dealing with Allies_'? Because it really is counterproductive to have you standing by my side, glaring daggers at the other party. Hostility has a strange effect of reducing another person's desire to compromise."

"Oh," John had perfected his expression of chagrin. 'We're working with completely different scripts here, I thought we were doing the Pegasus version of 'good cop, bad cop'..."

"Oh, yes, very smooth, very original. In summary,' Elizabeth said over her shoulder, as they neared the transporter, "You will behave with the utmost courtesy and outward show of respect towards Leowen. If you can't manage that, then don't bother escorting me to any future meetings. I won't have any more male posturing." She stopped suddenly and turned, with John only just managing to avoid a collision. "And no more snide comments about creepy old men." She held his eyes for a few moments, searing the instruction into his brain, then turned back to the transporter, muttering, 'Between Rodney pestering me about ZPMs and your stringent superficial requirements of prospective allies..." Elizabeth uttered a sigh of disgust and John hid a grin of amusement at how easily she could make him feel like a little boy again.

She entered the chamber, and quickly turned to plant her arms on either side of the door, preventing his entry. "And stop following me." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Weren't you going to finish off your overdue reports? I assume that's the reason you were in such a hurry to get to your office this morning." Her sweet smile dared him to correct that assumption.

_Trapped again._ He had to hand it to her, she knew exactly what strings to pull to make him dance to her tune. Meekly turning back to get some paperwork done was the lesser of the two evils- he knew she would find endless ways to prolong the agony if he was dumb enough to explain that no, the reason he'd been fleeing through the city that morning was to avoid her wrath.

Before the doors slid shut, they locked eyes once more. And his held an expression of appreciation and an admission that this round went to her. Hers held a smugness that suggested there was never any question over who the victor would be.

--

A/N: I confess, this story has totally not worked out the way I planned. Or rather, _imagined_, since I never work to plans, which is probably where I go astray. This chapter was written first, before I decided it needed a chapter _before_ it to set the scene, and now at last, I post it with a few revisions as the FIFTH chapter of this story. -headdesk-

This is where the story originally was meant to end; Elizabeth and Shep get a bit snappy, then return to playful bickering and everything fades to black. So the main plot I intended to write has been concluded. However, a tiny plot thread I wove in earlier suddenly took on a life of its own, and that is what I'll be continuing with, when I thrash out the finer details.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This was _supposed_ to be a paragraph or two at the end of the last chapter, but somehow Chuck and my original character Lucy Nauer sidetracked me. -facepalm- Also? I suck at technobabble and stuff, so just- go with it, 'k? Thanks. :D

An Exercise in Futility Pt 6

'_Don't worry about the future- _

_or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve_

_an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. _

_The real troubles in your life are apt to be things _

_that never crossed your worried mind; _

_the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday…'_

Elizabeth made her rounds of the control room, pausing by each workstation to receive updates from the morning shift, as was her _usual_ routine when she wasn't sorting out discipline problems with members of her senior staff. As she finished addressing one of the technicians, she noticed Chuck in her peripheral vision, craning his neck and gazing intently in her direction before turning to confer with a woman beside him. She dismissed it at first, but then he turned in his chair to follow her progress around the room, obviously believing she was too occupied by the personnel near her to be aware of his scrutiny from a 'safe' distance.

_Of course_, she realized. Trust Chuck to have noticed her mood earlier that morning. The man she suspected was amongst the city's worst gossips and probably one of the leaders behind the betting pool she officially knew nothing about. By this stage, they most likely had her and John down as having a lovers' quarrel, with bets being laid on how soon they'd kiss and make up. And now he was surreptitiously attempting to gauge her mood and assess how the confrontation with John had gone so he could supplement the rumor mill. She knew scrutiny was only to be expected by people in high-profile positions, and gossip stemming from it was human nature, but it was so ridiculous she had to laugh sometimes.

Straightening up, Elizabeth looked directly at him. "I'll be with you in a moment," she called, inwardly relishing the momentary look of surprised chagrin on Chuck's face, then nodded at the technician and made a note on her palm pilot before heading over to his station. "I noticed you glancing over at me, Chuck" she explained blandly. "Thought I'd save your neck the strain and come see what I could help you with."

"Uh, really, ma'am?" Chuck parried weakly.

"Well?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he repeated blankly, "It seems…um…" he looked at his console, scrambling to think of something, anything, a red herring of some sort that he could use to lead her off the scent but nothing came to mind.

The woman standing next to him, Lieutenant Lucinda Nauer, smirked in obvious amusement at the way Elizabeth was toying with the hapless technician. She faked a cough, using the opportunity to nudge him in the head with her elbow in what was not so much a show of support as mockery of his predicament.

This was a mistake, as it drew Elizabeth's attention to her. "Lucy," she said warmly.

"Morning, ma'am," the lieutenant replied warily. There was a glint in the doctor's eyes that didn't bode well and she kicked herself for sticking around to see the fun rather than melting away to less dangerous surroundings.

"What a nasty cough. I hope you're not coming down with anything?" Elizabeth inquired solicitously.

Nauer shrugged, wondering where she was going with this. "No, I'm fine. Just had a physical with Carson this week," she added hastily, in case their esteemed leader was thinking of setting her up for an appointment with needles.

"Good. Nothing should keep you from accompanying Dr Kavanaugh while he explores some of the new labs, then. It's so reassuring to know you're there to keep him safe." Testament indeed to Elizabeth's diplomatic skills that she was able to make that statement with a straight face. Most people in the city had fond fantasies of feeding Kavanaugh to a Wraith, such was the universal loathing held for the whiny self-important scientist who made McKay look like Mother Teresa.

"Just doing my job," Nauer replied, giving a pained smile. "But uh….we're not scheduled to leave for another half hour, so…" She had in fact planned on being _late_, in the hopes that this adventure for two would be forgotten, or that Kavanaugh would perhaps go off investigating the mysterious depths of Atlantis on his own and never return to plague her again.

Elizabeth, however, had other plans for her. "Oh, you know how these scientists can be. Brilliant but so easily distracted. Why don't you go round him up, help him get ready for your little excursion? Otherwise he's liable to get sidetracked by some project or other and then he won't surface til next week."

It was Chuck's turn to smirk and nudge her discreetly. Nauer glared at him, then sighed resignedly. "I'll…get right on that, ma'am." The look on her face suggested she was praying for a transporter to break down with her in it to spare her from the misery that Kavanaugh inflicted on those forced into close proximity with him.

Elizabeth waited for a few moments, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from chuckling aloud at the defeated set to the lieutenant's shoulders as she walked away before calling out, "Lucy? On second thoughts…"

Nauer turned eagerly at those words. "Yes, Dr Weir?"

"I left Colonel Sheppard diligently working away on a few reports for me. He's still got his radio switched off, so do you suppose you could do me a favor and stop by his office to see if he has anything ready for me yet? I need to assemble the files for the next Earth transmission, and that military requisition is urgently required."

Her expression shifted from dismal to elated in a heartbeat. "Of course, ma'am," she agreed fervently. "I can most definitely do that for you." She hurried away, a great deal more energetic in her response to Elizabeth's command this time round.

"Back to you," Elizabeth regarded Chuck once more.

During that little exchange, his sense of apprehension had faded. "It was nothing really," he said easily, relieved to note that his boss was in a much happier frame of mind than when she'd departed in a huff earlier. Playful, even, judging by what he'd just witnessed. Odds were good that Mom and Dad had patched things up.

He smiled at her. "If I may say so, it seems that…everything's all right now."

She aimed a level gaze at him, just long enough to make him squirm and wonder if he'd misjudged her, before she softened. "Yes, you could say that," Elizabeth agreed with a rueful smile. "Although no guarantees as to how long that happy state will last…"

"Probably the moment you see your desk."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Doctors Carrington and Prasad came around a little earlier," he said delicately.

"At the same time?" Chuck nodded. "How bad was it?" she asked, dreading the answer. It was a shame that scientists often had such _volatile_ dispositions. These two individuals were incredibly intelligent, slavishly devoted to their work and she couldn't ask for more passion and dedication and commitment than they provided. Unfortunately, they also were liable to explode into fierce arguments in defense of their work, and for some reason, the research of one frequently contradicted the findings of the other. Which was when they stormed over to her office- as Rodney was only too pleased to delegate the responsibility of keeping them from tearing out each other's throats to _her_- and continued their argument at full volume with Elizabeth caught in the middle.

"Actually, Dr Weir, they ran into each other depositing reports on your desk and managed to avoid speaking a single non-civil word to each other," said Chuck. "Whatever you're doing? It's working wonders."

"Thank you," Elizabeth answered, letting out a long sigh as she absorbed his words, and a deeply satisfied smile spread across her face. It was gratifying to see her efforts paying off. The war was not yet won; her few sessions with the doctors had been enough to instill some self-control in them, enough not to engage in public spats, but there was still work to be done on getting them to properly co-operate with each other.

Still…she felt really good right now. Not even the threat of a desk-load of reports could deter her from basking in her triumph at this moment. "I'll be in my office. I suppose I better see what their latest conflict of professional opinions is about. Hold all non-critical traffic for me, would you?"

Chuck loved watchdog duty. It gave him a sense of authority, being able to question those headed to her office and granting or denying access, depending on how they justified their need. "Of course, Dr Weir," he said graciously. "Have fun."

She slanted a half-smile his way, then headed for the bridge that led to her office. Settling into her chair, she began plowing through the stack of reports that Carrington and Prasad had left her. From the scientific jargon she could decipher, it seemed they had been studying some Ancient technology that had specialized Wraith-freezing capabilities. It was set to identify Wraith physiology and literally freeze them in place. That didn't seem too impressive, considering that shooting a ton of bullets into them was a more permanent way to eliminate the threat, but the really exciting application of this technology was that if operated properly, it could send wide dispersal beams throughout the city- perhaps the _entire_ city, depending on how much power was available- and stop any invaders dead in their tracks. Remembering the siege they had withstood after their first year in the Pegasus Galaxy, and the number of casualties sustained in defending their city, she sure wished a device like this had been operational back then. It sounded marvelous, almost too good to be true.

Funnily enough, Elizabeth remembered translating the Ancient passages relating to that device- her notes were referred to frequently in the scientists' dissertations- but her translations hadn't indicated anything like _this_, to her non-scientific mind anyway. She had read through these specific Ancient entries, even if the way the words were strung together made little sense at the time, and known it was something to do with the Wraith- which was the keyword she searched for in all the texts, alternately abandoning or lingering on them based on whether it concerned the Wraith- but the reports her people had compiled, that examined the implications of the various passages and extrapolated them in a new, sophisticated and highly technical context…it was incredible. It far eclipsed her ability to follow their reasoning, but to know that she had been involved in the process, even to a small extent, made her feel proud, eased the headache of trying to work out exactly what all the fuss was about.

The fly in the ointment was that the super fantastic amazing Wraith weapon of immense power and potential was jammed. Some rubble had damaged the machine, probably when the Asurans had seized control of the city and John had been trying to evade the drones sent after them, outsmarting them with his superior flying skills and sending them crashing into buildings instead. Now something in the circuitry was malfunctioning and wouldn't let the power flow through it properly. They could either cart the whole thing off to the standard science labs and tinker with it there, or pull it apart and attempt repairs in its current location. The problem with the first options was that the device was inherently unstable and removing it from its cradle could result in a chain-reaction of blown circuitry with catastrophic results. The problem with the second was that due to its unstable nature, power would need to be re-routed around that section to prevent from accidentally overloading the device before they could figure out how to run it, but this wasn't the most practical idea since they would be forced to cut power to the nearby infirmary as well.

Elizabeth hated to see a good idea go down the drain, but it was going to take some time to determine which of the options were more viable, if either. There was no point destroying the city in an attempt to safeguard it, after all. The memory of Rodney's infamous destruction of nearly an entire galaxy cautioned her against hastily accepting Prasad's assurances that the risk to Atlantis was minimal and grossly exaggerated by his hysterical colleague, however, Carrington's safety precautions concerned her. To her knowledge, no one was seriously injured and on life-support in the infirmary, but experience taught her that could change in an instant. There was no way she could guarantee none of her people would require life-saving treatment during the shutdown period, even if she grounded every team on Atlantis. There were more than enough ways they could injure themselves on home ground, _that_ she knew well enough.

If they set up a secondary medical center in another part of the city, shifted operations there for the duration of the device-testing, she could justify the experiment but it would take time for that measure to be implemented, and it would be a drain on personnel allocation and resources…the pros and cons were endless. And this was only a preliminary analysis!

Elizabeth stood and walked over to the large monitor built into her office wall, calling up a schematic of Atlantis on the display. She needed to have all the facts on recent power stats and the configuration of the grid that ran through the city, the way it branched off and which areas would be affected; the location of the new possible infirmary and accessibility from the gate, which was where many of their casualties originated from; the site of other ongoing experiments that could make it unwise to pursue this new proposal…

Caught up as she was in examining the issues from every conceivable angle, determined to avoid courting trouble and to have prepared for every eventuality, Elizabeth barely noticed Nauer enter her office bearing a hard-won report from John. The lieutenant repeated his words of appreciation for her concern and the promise that he'd be down later with the rest of the paperwork. And that if he failed to materialize, then to search for his body at the base of the highest tower, such was his misery in enduring this wretched task.

Elizabeth absent-mindedly told her to tell him that it was his own fault for leaving things til the last minute, and Nauer delightedly took this as an official communication to be passed on back to the city's ranking military officer, who'd hinted a turkey sandwich would be appreciated if she happened to pass by his way again. Avoiding Kavanaugh was _so_ much more effective when she had the excuse of running errands for the expedition leader and her commanding officer.

It was the sound of the corner door hissing open that finally drew Elizabeth out of her musings. This entrance was rarely used; she preferred to come through the control room, mingle with her people, find out the status of various operations, address any concerns they had…she wasn't the type to make people come to her, she wanted to make herself available to them, well-aware it could be more intimidating to approach her in her office, knowing that sometimes they wanted to broach minor issues that they would never book an appointment to discuss.

Rodney sometimes used the second door, when he was caught up in intellectual fervor over a new brilliant idea and couldn't be bothered maneuvering through the obstacle course of the control room, especially when she'd reprimanded him for shoving people's chairs out of his way when there were still _people_ occupying them. And sometimes Teyla dragged her out to lunch through that door, wary of Elizabeth being side-tracked by personnel offering updates or reports or requiring her signature on various documents if they ventured out through the main exit.

But looking over, she saw it was none of the usual suspects. "Major Lorne?" she said in surprise. "What can I-" An energy blast from a stunner cut her off before she could finish the sentence, before she could even wonder why Lorne would be aiming a weapon at her.

He efficiently holstered the stunner and took a few steps forward, catching the unconscious woman as she fell. Dragging her body through the side door and setting her on the floor, he quickly glanced back through the glass walls to the control room to ensure that no one had noticed what was going on. The chatter of voices continued unabated, and everyone was facing away from Elizabeth's office, unsuspecting of the drama being played out within. The entire process had only taken seconds, and attracted nobody's attention.

Satisfied, he returned to her side and picked up her body before hastening away.

--

A/N: I've tried as best I can to figure out the layout of Elizabeth's office, but they keep switching it around on me! That door exists in one ep and disappears in another…to paraphrase a BSG icon re: Adama's quarters, '_if you pay careful attention, Elizabeth Weir's office makes no frakking sense_!'


End file.
